


Clearing Skies

by Vyc



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol, Costumes, Developing Relationship, Fix-It, Holodecks/Holosuites, M/M, Period clothing, The Battle of Britain, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyc/pseuds/Vyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the past weeks, without realising it, Julian had been taking Garak's company for granted. But no longer: he's going to make certain to properly include Garak in his life from now on, and the first way he intends to do so is--to invite him along to one of his holosuite sessions with Chief O'Brien.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reparation

**Author's Note:**

> This fic comes from two sources: an incredibly awesome commission I ordered from [petaq](http://petaq.tumblr.com/) (art journal at [dziwaczka](http://dziwaczka.tumblr.com/)), and from reading _A Stitch in Time_ by Andrew Robinson, specifically the parts where Garak gets jealous of Julian and Miles' holosuite sessions. With both of those things in mind, I ended up writing this last May, although I haven't had time to clean up and post it until now. I had a lot of fun writing this and learned quite a bit about the Battle of Britain into the bargain, so I hope everyone enjoys the piece!
> 
> Thank you to [tinsnip](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tinsnip/) for checking this over to make sure relationship things unrolled realistically. I owe you one. <3

Julian gusted through the promenade, slipping through this gap in the crowd here, blowing past strolling shoppers there. He was due back in the infirmary in two minutes—thank goodness for Dr. Rawat staying on past the end of his shift or he wouldn't even have that—but he just had to make this last quick stop, at Garak's Clothiers. 

He could have contacted Garak by computer, of course. But if he was going to be cancelling lunch on him, the least he could do was deliver the message in person. And, well, he hadn't seen Garak in nearly three days now. It just didn't seem right.

He felt a little guilty when he jogged into Garak's shop to find his friend on the verge of exiting—though that was quickly supplanted by alarm at being suddenly on a collision course. Garak fortunately made a neat sidestep in time, saving them both from visiting the infirmary as head injury patients.

"Ah, Doctor, there you are," Garak began but Julian didn't have time to let him get any further.

"Sorry, Garak, I have to cancel—what about tomorrow?"

Garak's smile stilled for a moment. His eyelids dropped a fraction. "Of course. My schedule is as always completely open. Did you forget you had promised Chief O'Brien a game of darts?"

And there it was, just as Jadzia had said. How had he not noticed before?

But he'd think about this later, when he wasn't testing the limits of Dr. Rawat's kindness. "No, the entire crew of the Ferengi vessel that just docked needs to be treated for Tokassan flu. Half of them are sneezing themselves crosseyed and if we don't look after them now, the whole station will be infected by tomorrow evening."

"Well, far be it for me to interfere. I'll see you tomorrow, then—provided you aren't afflicted by the same malady as your patients." Garak widened his eyes in an expression of utter sincerity. "The life of a physician on the frontier truly is a glamorous one. You have my deepest envy."

"Garak. . . ." Was no one going to let him forget that?

And damn, damn, damn, he never could have a short conversation with Garak. He needed to run, now!

He spun on the balls of his feet to dash away. "Have a good afternoon—oh!" He spun right back around again, because this was the perfect time to act on his idea. "Garak, what are you doing this evening?"

Garak's expression was an entertaining mix of amusement and mild confusion. "I had been planning on watching that recording of _Romeo and Juliet_ you had given me, but that can wait for another time. Why do you ask?"

"The Chief and I were planning on giving the Battle of Britain another go. Why don't you join us?"

"Oh, I don't think so," Garak immediately said, as Julian knew he would. "I couldn't possibly intrude on your time together."

"It's not intruding if I ask you. I want you there, Garak—it would be fun," he insisted.

Garak lowered his chin. "Does Chief O'Brien want me there, I wonder."

"He'll be fine." He fought the urge to fidget. He was going to owe Dr. Rawat so many favours after this! "Come on, Garak, if you don't like it, you can leave. Just try it this once. I've been so busy lately—I want to spend a little time with you that doesn't involve me running out halfway through."

He could see Garak changing his mind and—in for a penny, in for a pound. . . . "I've missed you."

A beat, then Garak sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to wear."

"You still have the patterns for my costume and the Chief's, don't you? You can just replicate something for now and fix it later." And now he really had to go. "I'll meet you at nineteen hundred hours at Quark's—see you then!"

He didn't wait for Garak's answer but sprinted out of the shop. Whining patients and spraying bodily fluids, here he came.

*

It had been Jadzia who had noticed it first, which he could still barely believe. She and Garak spent no more time together than it took for Garak to make her the occasional offduty outfit or holosuite costume, but after witnessing just one interaction between himself and Garak, she had picked up on something extremely important.

"Julian, I think Garak is jealous of the time you and the Chief spend together," she had said once they'd sat down at Quark's with their drinks.

It had seemingly come out of deep space, and for one bewildered moment, he had only blinked at her. "Jealous? Jadzia, you can't be serious."

"I am."

She'd nodded at where Garak had been making his way out of the bar and onto the promenade; they had run into each other as he'd been on his way to meet Jadzia. Julian had taken the opportunity to explain that he would need to cut their lunch short the next day as he'd promised the Chief a pint and darts that afternoon. The Chief was so busy now, given his family had at last returned to the station, that Julian needed to snatch whatever time with him he could. He'd thought Garak had understood, but according to Jadzia, he'd only been pretending.

"No offence, but I believe you're mistaken," he'd said (thinking back to that still made him wince). "I've known Garak for years. He was perfectly fine with making the change to our schedule."

"Mmhmm." Jadzia's skepticism couldn't have been plainer. "Out of curiosity, how many times lately have you rescheduled on him for the Chief's sake?"

He had frowned. "Not . . . too many." At first, he hadn't been able to recall more than one or two other instances. But the more he'd thought. . . . "I, um, don't think."

Jadzia hadn't scolded him. She hadn't done anything but say kindly, "I think Garak might be feeling a little left out. Next time, you probably should be a little more careful with your scheduling."

All the same, Julian had been struck through with guilt. Did Garak think he was being taken for granted? Of course it wasn't true—Julian prized his friendship just as highly as he always had—but it was possible Garak had gotten the wrong impression. 

If that were the case, though, why hadn't Garak said anything?

"I will," he'd answered distractedly. 

A hand squeezing his arm had made him look up into Jadzia's understanding smile.

"Try not to worry about it," she'd said. "Now that you know, you can start making amends."

"Yes, of course, you're right." He'd had to sit hard on the need to run out right then and there to patch things up, but he'd managed it. He had even produced a smile. "Why don't we go order our meal before I start making _you_ feel neglected?" 

Jadzia had laughed, and spending a few hours with her had done much to lift his spirits, but he hadn't forgotten her words. From that point on, he'd told himself, he'd kept a sharp eye out for any jealousy on Garak's part. And he would make certain Garak felt every bit as as valued as he was.

*

"All set to defend England's mountains green?" Chief O'Brien asked cheerfully that evening.

"Almost." Julian glanced about—no sign of Garak yet—then seated himself at the Chief's table at Quark's, stretching out his booted feet. "You're a bit early, aren't you?"

"It was either leave now and finish up later or bring the whole bloody conduit down around my ears out of sheer frustration. I was ready to tear the damn thing to pieces, so I decided to give it a rest."

"Very good. I'm glad to hear you're taking the advice of your physician and looking out for that blood pressure of yours."

"Don't you start." The Chief took a gulp of the pint he'd presumably ordered while waiting. "Now instead of sitting around talking, why don't we continue our noble battle?"

. . . Ah. Julian pulled in his feet to let a few other patrons pass. Things were about to get a little delicate. "Actually, I invited someone to join us this evening. I hope you don't mind."

"Yeah?" The Chief looked surprised, but not yet unpleasantly so. "Who is it, Dax?"

"It's, um. Garak."

" _Garak_?" So much for that lack of unpleasant surprise. "You invited _Garak_?"

This was not going well.

"Yes, I, ah—" 

"Good evening, gentlemen."

They both turned . . . and even though Julian was well aware he was in hot water, he just couldn't help but smile. 

"Adorable" was never, _ever_ a word he'd have thought would apply to Garak under any circumstances, but right now he was having trouble making anything else fit. It seemed Garak had gone ahead and replicated a copy of his and O'Brien's uniforms in his size, and he made the tidiest pilot World War II had ever seen. The string to his flight cap was tied neatly beneath his chin instead of being left to dangle, his trousers were pressed, and he had even gone so far as to shine his boots. It was the most bizarrely endearing thing Julian had ever seen.

"Hello, Garak," he greeted him, not even trying to keep a straight face. "All ready to go?"

"Yes, provided Chief O'Brien is as well," Garak answered.

Julian looked over at the Chief. They held one another's gaze for a long moment—come on, Chief, just this once? —before Miles broke eye contact and sighed. "I'm ready."

Julian grinned and started for the holosuites. "Then our Spitfires await!"

"Doctor," he heard Garak begin as he followed. It sounded as though, in contrast with Julian, he was taking the stairs at a sedate one at a time. "Forgive me my ignorance, but what is the Battle of Britain? I assume it was an important and honourable battle, as Commander Worf might say, but I'm afraid that's all I know."

Julian glanced behind him (the sight of Garak in that cap was one he would never forget) then said, "Actually, the Battle of Britain was the name of a campaign that took place hundreds of years ago. It was to protect Britain from the German air force, the Luftwaffe, over a period of—four months, was it?"

"Three months and three weeks," the Chief corrected from the rear.

Julian shrugged a little. Close enough. "The war was going very much in Germany's favour at that point and the Germans thought England's surrender was going to be quick and inevitable. But the English held the line and defended their island and handed the Germans a resounding defeat!"

"I see. It sounds as though this is a very exciting program. But I do hope it's forgiving of newcomers—learning to fly ancient Earth aircraft wasn't precisely part of my training as a . . . tailor," Garak said, making Julian grin again. Of course that pause was deliberate; it couldn't be anything else.

Once he'd reached his and the Chief's usual holosuite, Julian keyed in his passcode and started the program running. "There's nothing to worry about. All the controls for the planes are vastly simplified. The Chief and I don't have enough time to go through full flight training on top of our usual duties."

"Damn right we don't," the Chief agreed.

"I'm glad to hear it. I'll do my best not to be too much of an impediment." Garak smiled.

And Julian grinned again. "You'll do fine." He took one last look at the Chief and Garak and tried not to laugh at the contrast between his friends. If there were two more different men on the station, it would be a real challenge locating them. "All right, then! For King and Country!"

"For King and Country!" the Chief echoed, finally cracking a smile, and off they all went.

*

"Tell me you're not planning on inviting Garak to _all_ of our holosuite sessions," the Chief demanded the moment Garak had left Quark's.

Julian frowned. He'd thought that hadn't gone too badly, all things considered, but it appeared his opinion wasn't unanimously shared. "No, of course not—the holosuite is our thing." He drew in a breath. "Look, Chief, I know you don't like Garak, but—"

"It's not that," Miles interrupted. He dropped onto a barstool. "The man shot down more planes than the two of us put together! On his first try! 'Newcomer' my arse."

Suddenly feeling much lighter, Julian joined him. He caught Quark's eye (and the eyeroll at their costumes), then replied, "Cheer up, Chief. At least you downed the second-highest number of planes."

As competitive as Julian could be, he found he didn't mind being figuratively blown out of the water—er, air—today. There was just something so . . . riveting about the efficiency with which Garak picked the enemy bombers out of the sky. It also could have been rather alarming, had it been anyone but Garak piloting the Spitfire.

Chief O'Brien did not cheer up. On the contrary, he grunted. "It's not even his bloody _planet_."

"So give him a higher difficulty setting next time."

"Two pints of bitter for the 'flyboys,'" Quark interrupted, setting one mug apiece before them. He then glanced about. "Wasn't Garak with you earlier?"

"He said he needed to be going," Julian answered. He was assuming Garak had wanted to give him and the Chief some time together, which was kind of him and probably also prudent.

"Some people have the sense not to sit around in silly costumes," Quark commented, then leaned forward. "Hey, tell him to have a celebratory glass of kanar next time, will you? I still have a lot of stock to move."

"He tells us this after making fun of our 'silly costumes,'" Miles said to Julian.

Quark held up his hands. "I'm not judging. I'm being objective here. Really, though, talk to him. It'll do him good to get out more."

He headed off for the dabo tables; Julian shook his head. Somehow, he didn't think he'd be passing that message on.

"Anyway. How are Keiko and Molly doing?"

The rest of the evening passed very pleasantly and, after some time in Quark's, a little fuzzily. All in all, Julian was pleased with how things had turned out. They really would have to do this again sometime.


	2. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some changes are made to the program, and to Julian's perceptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot to say about this one, except that I had a lot of fun writing it, and that this chapter contains the scene that sparked the whole fic. Image credit at the end of the chapter. <3

It wasn't for a few weeks that the three of them had another holosuite session together. Over that period, Julian was very careful with his schedule. He and the Chief wasted time together with their usual darts and holosuite adventures, and he and Garak met most days for lunch and spent a couple of evenings in each other's company. He even managed to squeeze in time for drinks with Dax and for the occasional infirmary social night. 

This left him extremely busy, it was true, but the effort he put into timetable management was worth it. He didn't have to squirm over running out on Garak the one time it was unavoidable (emergency surgery was difficult to postpone), and in turn, Garak seemed happier—at least as far as he could tell, anyway. Garak was an expressive man, yes, but the emotions he projected tended to be at angles with the way he was actually feeling. All the same, this time Julian felt justifiably confident in his diagnosis.

He hadn't been planning on inviting Garak along with him and the Chief again for a while yet, but one evening, he was very much surprised when Miles said, "See if Garak is free tonight, too, will you? I finished modifying the program—I doubt he'll be flying circles around us now."

Suddenly buoyant, he replied, "I will—I imagine he'll be able to come. His tailoring business has fallen off a bit lately, unfortunately."

"Huh. Maybe if he got his sleeves the right length, he'd be doing better."

Julian eyed his friend's perpetually rolled-up sleeves. "How would you know if they weren't?"

"I just do, all right?" Miles said crankily, which told Julian he'd scored a point. "I'm off here. See you tonight, Airman."

Julian waved a salute of sorts at him as Miles strode to the turbolift. Only another hour before lunch, when he could find out if the three of them really were about to fly again. That sounded like very little time at all, but he didn't doubt that the waiting was going to be dreadful.

*

As he'd expected, Garak was indeed available for more airborne adventures and he agreed readily to the suggestion. That put Julian's mood somewhere in the exosphere (had he been planetbound, at any rate). He was so glad that Garak seemed to have completely changed his mind about the holosuite since the previous year, and he was just as thrilled that Garak and the Chief seemed to be putting their conflict behind them. Of course he wasn't so naive as to expect them to get along simply because he was close to both of them, but he would much prefer his best friends to at least tolerate each other. Now it seemed that his wish was finally coming true.

That evening, he was the first to arrive at Quark's, though not by much. He hadn't even the time to decide whether he wanted to order a drink while he waited before the Chief strolled in, dressed and ready to go.

"All set for takeoff, Julian?" Miles asked over a delighted cry of "Dabo!"

"Of course! I haven't seen Garak yet, but as soon as he's here, we can start. Are you going to warn him about the changes to the difficulty setting?"

"Do I have to?"

Julian nudged him with his shoulder. "Come on, Chief, it wouldn't be fair to just toss him into the deep end."

"Don't worry. I'm pretty sure your friend can swim," Miles muttered.

About to answer back, Julian stopped when he noticed Quark approaching them. "Are you two looking for Garak? He told me to let you know he was going to be waiting inside the program for you and to come in when you were ready."

"I believe that would be now," Julian said with a quick glance to the Chief to confirm. "Thank you, Quark."

Quark made an impatient gesture of acknowledgment and hurried off, no doubt to fleece yet another customer.

"All right, then." Miles started up the stairs, humming. Within a bar, Julian recognized the melody of "Jerusalem" and happily joined in.

The holosuite doors opened on a brilliantly sunny day at Biggin Hill, warm even for an English summer. Julian could already feel himself begin to sweat beneath his heavy jacket, though he didn't bother to remove it. He'd be cool enough once he was in the air.

He scanned the area, but there was no sign of Garak. That was a bit unusual; the last time, meticulously dressed Garak had stood out amidst the dashing Human pilots as clearly as a blackout violation. Today, though, he seemed to be doing a great deal better at blending in.

He did, however, catch the eye of Airman Brown, a kindhearted recurring character. Brown didn't stop, though, but only called out, "The flight lieutenant's waiting for you at your hangar."

Julian raised a hand to wave in thanks, but distractedly. Flight lieutenant?

"Flight lieutenant?" Miles asked, echoing his thoughts. "We weren't supposed to meet with any officers today, were we?"

"As far as I'm aware, we were just supposed to get into our Spitfires and fly out, the same as always."

"Guess we'd better check it out. It could be something the program does when you've logged enough hours."

"That could be," he agreed, only partly convinced. Still, you never knew.

When they entered the hangar, naturally the sight of their two trusty airplanes caught his attention first (. . . not three?). But then he noticed a figure in officers' uniform inspecting one of the Spitfires.

An officer with decidedly non-period chin-length black hair.

And grey skin.

" _You're_ the flight lieutenant?" Miles demanded.

Garak turned, showing off the most innocuous of his collection of innocuous smiles, and as he did, Julian got a proper look at his costume. 

He was wearing a collared white shirt and perfectly knotted tie. Black gloves drew attention to his hands, and while Julian was hardly an expert, he was positive Garak had hand-tailored the blue-green jacket and trousers—no standard-issue uniform ever looked that trim. Finally, Garak had topped it off with an officer's cap, its brim precisely centred. 

The effect was. . . .

Well. Last time, when Garak had been wearing an airman's flight uniform, the word that had unavoidably come to mind had been "adorable." That word no longer fit. Instead, the only one Julian could think of now was "attractive."

It wasn't the first time that he'd found himself unable to avoid noticing Garak's appearance. As a matter of fact, he had been aware of it for some time. Garak's looks weren't the sort that knocked you over the head, like Jadzia's or Major Kira's. In their cases, it was immediately obvious that they were both gorgeous. 

By contrast, Garak was more subtle. His attractiveness crept up on you. And it hadn't been until some time into their friendship that Julian had realised as much.

Once he had, he'd done his best to ignore it, the same way he ignored things with Jadzia and the Major. Some of your friends were good-looking and some weren't. That was the way it was.

He wasn't so sure, however, that he was going to be able to ignore the way Garak looked right now.

"Yes, I am," Garak answered the Chief, and that should have redirected Julian's thoughts, but Garak's expression had turned so satisfied that it really wasn't helping anything. "I thought this position—and its uniform—was better suited to me, so I did a little tinkering with the program. I hope you don't mind."

That explanation was enough to at last get Julian to transfer his gaze to the Chief, away from Garak. The look on his face was every bit as entertaining as he'd expected.

"Of course we mind—we didn't come here to be bossed around by you!" Miles came just shy of shouting.

Garak of course appeared completely unconcerned. "Is that true, Doctor?"

"Well . . . as long as you don't take advantage of your position, that should be all right." 

After all, it was clear Garak had put a lot of work into his part. It would be unfair to tell him to scrap it in the first two minutes.

" _Julian_!"

Garak smiled, his eyes only on Julian. "Of course. I'll be perfectly reasonable."

"I can't believe this. . . ." the Chief grumbled; they both paid him no mind.

"Now," Garak said briskly as his already straight posture somehow straightened further. "Intelligence reports have indicated that the Luftwaffe are en route to London to launch a particularly devastating strike. You'll be taking to the air in fifteen minutes to intercept them."

Julian glanced at the Chief again. Already, he could see his friend's ruffled feathers settling as he allowed himself to be immersed in the scenario. Good. Maybe this was going to work, after all.

Naturally, this was the moment Miles' combadge decided to interrupt. 

"Kira to O'Brien."

His sigh was a work of art. "Go ahead, Major."

"Chief, the entire communications array has just gone down. We need you up in ops immediately."

"Oh n—how the _hell_ did that happen?"

"We've got some teams looking into it now, but no answers. You'd better come see for yourself. Kira out."

Miles turned upon them the look of a condemned man. "Don't bother waiting for me. Ten to one I'll be up all night with this." 

"Hard luck, Chief." Julian clapped his shoulder. As CMO, he could understand his friend's pain over inconvenient emergencies all too well. "Maybe it'll turn out someone just nudged it out of alignment a bit."

"Or perhaps it's sabotage," Garak suggested helpfully and received a glare for his trouble.

"Whatever it is, I'm about to find out. See you later—I hope."

Gloomily tugging his aviator's cap from his head, the Chief called out, "Computer, exit." A door opened in the middle of the hangar. He walked through; the door closed behind him and vanished from view.

Julian looked back to Garak. "Now what? Do you want to continue or shall we go for a drink at Quark's?"

"Not dressed like this." Garak gestured at his uniform and Julian's attention was once more brought back to just how well it suited him. "We've already invested this much time. We may as well continue."

"Should I reset the parametres for two participants?"

"There's no need. I'll take Chief O'Brien's place and fly his airplane. No doubt our brave ground crew will find it highly irregular, but given they're fictional, they'll adapt."

"True enough." He started for his airplane, but then Garak interrupted.

"A moment, Doctor, if you would."

Julian faced Garak, curious. The request didn't have anything to do with the simulation or Garak would have called him "Airman" —unless, of course, he thought it too silly. What was it, then?

He received his answer immediately. Garak stepped forward a few paces, the click of his shoes echoing down the hangar, and took hold of the ends of Julian's scarf.

"Garak?" What in the world was he doing?

"I can't possibly allow you to go out with a scarf as poorly tied as this."

Julian chuckled a bit breathlessly. Leave it to Garak to think about appearances even now.

He wanted to make some sort of response, but at the moment, nothing was coming to him, not a single word. Garak's fingers were stark black against the white of his scarf and skillful despite his gloves. The brim of his cap hid Garak's eyes from him; all Julian could see was the turn of his lips as he undid the knot. It was an odd but fascinating sight, the way one part of Garak was so isolated, so put into focus. It was also a sight driven completely from his mind the moment he felt the slide of silk along his neck.

He swallowed with a dry mouth, now more conscious than ever of Garak's fingers so close to his throat. There was a clear association with that sensation. The only other time he had felt cloth move at his neck in that manner, pulled by another's hands, was in a different holosuite program. Julian Bashir, Secret Agent, pursues a dangerous woman of mystery once more. After a bit of mutual seduction, she leads him to bed, beginning to undress him by sensuously slipping his tie from his neck. 

Feeling that coming from Garak was—strange. But, in all honesty . . . he couldn't say it was a bad thing.

Nowhere near soon enough (or possibly "too soon" he couldn't help thinking), Garak finished his tidying. He wrapped up by patting down the now even ends of Julian's scarf—sending awareness sweeping through him of the touch of his hand on his chest—and of course by straightening his collar.

"There. Much better."

"Ah." Julian cleared his throat. "Thank you."

He'd tried to disguise the change in his voice, but his lowered tone must have caught Garak's ear, because the other man gave him a sudden sharp look. Julian held his gaze as best he could, until Garak relented. He stepped back and Julian very nearly moved forward to close that gap again, and what the hell was going on with him today?

"Shall we be off?" Garak asked, his own tone made of nothing but lightness and uncomplicated cheer.

"Yes, um, let's, shall we?"

Julian finally walked to his Spitfire to begin his takeoff preparations, blowing out a long breath as he did. One thought in particular rose above the sudden cacophonous blur in his mind:

It said a great deal about your life when you were looking to a war to give yourself an uncomplicated escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The credit for [the image in this chapter](http://dziwaczka.tumblr.com/post/51032234631/felteluress-commission-for-the-tumblrcon-art) (which is used with permission) goes to [petaq](http://petaq.tumblr.com). If you love the picture half as much as I do, I'm sure praise would not go amiss. <3


	3. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian has a lot to consider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are: the last chapter! I hope everyone has enjoyed reading along, and I look forward to seeing you all next week with the next fic. <3

As it turned out, the Chief's work finished sooner than he seemed to have been expecting, leaving him able to join them later on. When he arrived at the holosuite sometime later, Julian was treated to the sight of a door opening in the clear blue sky and the Chief entering and walking on nothing at all to Garak's airplane. He knocked on the glass canopy and, after a short exchange, he heard Garak call out, "Computer, freeze program." It was just as well: a German bomber had come up behind him while he had been distracted.

Garak swung out of the cockpit and strolled over to Julian's airplane, neatly stepping around a spray of bullets suspended in midair. Julian slid the canopy back on the Spitfire as he approached. 

"I believe I'm going to give Chief O'Brien his turn and leave the two of you to your game," Garak told him. "Good evening, Doctor." He raised his voice. "Computer, exit."

"Good evening—Garak?" he asked. The sight of Garak's uniformed back, his gloved hands tucked around one another, had turned the name into a question without him intending it.

Garak faced him again. "Yes?"

And now he had no idea what to say. His thoughts and feelings were such a _mess_. ". . . Never mind. I'll see you for lunch tomorrow?"

"Of course. I look forward to it. Until then."

With a small bow, Garak left. Once the doors had disappeared behind him, Julian was partially able to immerse himself in the program again—partially, because everything was still frozen in some sort of non-interactive diorama.

Though not for long. "All set, Julian?" the Chief called.

He sighed and pushed Garak from his mind as best he could in favour of working out how not to get shot down. This . . . was going to be a challenge. "Ready when you are."

*

His lunch with Garak the following day, and for a number of days after, was . . . odd. Oh, on the surface, everything was normal—they discussed their books and plays and politics, sometimes debating, sometimes outright arguing—but if Julian had learned anything from his friendship with Garak, it was that the surface didn't matter. Not nearly as much as what lay underneath, anyway. 

And beneath their conversations, they were watching each other. Or, at least, Julian sensed Garak was watching him; he never could catch him at it. Garak caught him, however, and every time, he would smile a harmless smile. That expression, Julian knew, hid the most of all. 

He couldn't be sure of what Garak was thinking, but he was sure that he had been left with an important question: Did he want them to stay friends, or did he want to add another layer to their relationship? It wasn't the sort of thing he could answer for himself quickly or simply—it was far too important to rush, and so he made certain to take his time. 

At one lunch, his mind had drifted while Garak had been going on about the enigma tale they were both reading, to what their meals together might look like if they became a couple as well as close friends.

Frankly . . . it hadn't seemed to him as though it would be all that different.

At the end of another of their lunches, Julian had deliberately let his fingers brush Garak's as he'd handed over a padd. The first thing he had noticed was how cold the other man's hands had been (he always forgot how chilly the promenade was for him). The second, right on the heels of the first, had been that spark he always felt with anyone he had a real interest in.

He'd then been rather distracted that afternoon, until he'd found the rhythm of his work and settled into it.

*

"Aren't we going to wait for Chief O'Brien?" Garak inquired after they had finished greeting one another and Julian had started toward the holosuites.

"He can't make it. I got a message from him a few minutes ago—something went wrong with the secondary power couplings on the _Defiant_ ," he answered. "It's just the two of us tonight."

"One would think the station had only one engineer."

He had to laugh. "I'm sure it feels that way to him sometimes."

Once they were upstairs and Julian was entering his passcode, he found himself sneaking little sideways looks at Garak. Repeated exposure to him in his flight lieutenant's uniform hadn't diminished Julian's appreciation—not by a long shot. At first, he'd wondered if the element of surprise had affected his perception. Now, two weeks and several holosuite sessions later, he felt very safe in concluding that wasn't the case.

"Here we are," Julian said as the doors to the holosuite parted. A smile twitched his lips when, a moment later, an officer caught up to Garak and handed him a sheaf of papers with a "Here you are, sir."

"Thank you, Flying Officer." Garak smiled professionally, then skimmed the top page. "Ah. It seems these are at least partially your orders, Airman."

Julian spared a brief moment to be impressed by how quickly Garak had picked up the ability to recognise Human historical air force rankings by sight—was there anything he couldn't do? —before replying, "Fill me in on the way to the hangar, if you don't mind?"

In contrast to the previous times they had been there, the current weather at Biggin Hill was overcast, with a damp chill that suggested rain was either recent or imminent. It made him not particularly keen to loiter outside.

"Of course. I don't find your supposedly 'green and pleasant land' all that pleasant at the moment, I must say." Garak tucked his chin as a thin breeze chose the appropriate moment to sweep the airfield.

"And nor is it particularly green today, either," he agreed. The clouds were leaching the colour from their surroundings, making everything as drab as a Vulcan landscape—or nearly, anyway.

The hangar, when they reached it, had the usual complement of characters preparing for takeoff. It didn't much matter where he spoke to Garak before he took off and Garak became his radio contact, but all the same, he led the other man behind the body of his airplane for a bit of privacy.

As soon as they were out of sight, Garak straightened and Julian found himself doing the same. The other man's tone was crisp as he said, "Your orders today are to protect the Channel from incursion by the Luftwaffe. The Germans intend to determine how strong our defences are, so I hope you'll leave them with a positive impression—or perhaps I should say a negative one."

"I will. Anything else, sir?" Julian asked, unable to stop himself from smiling at that last little word. Two weeks and he still couldn't keep a straight face.

At least he generally infected Garak with his amusement. Today was no different: he could see a smile playing about the corners of Garak's lips as he responded, "At this juncture, I believe it's traditional to instruct you not to die. I do hope you'll be conscientious about carrying out that order."

"Yessir, will do, sir," he said smartly and was more than pleased to see that hidden smile emerge all the way. It made his heart lift, more than it did when he made his other friends smile, and . . . and really, he should just take his own advice, shouldn't he? If he could tell Odo not even a week ago to speak up and say something about his feelings, he could damn well do the same in his own life.

It was time to stop delaying and going in circles inside his own head. Here was the perfect opportunity—it was even supported by the program's narrative!

Garak seemed about to speak, but he wasn't going to let this opportunity fly past. Instead, he reached out. He curled his fingers at the base of Garak's head into his shockingly soft hair, flicked up the brim of his cap with his other hand, and bent down.

He'd expected to catch Garak off-guard, had expected a delay before Garak either stepped back or returned his kiss. He, then, was the one to be startled when Garak met him halfway, more than ready for the touch of his lips.

Well. That answered that.

Within seconds, another question was also taken care of. As their lips moved, their noses brushed, and Garak took firm hold of his shoulders to pull their bodies together, the matter of whether his level of physical attraction to Garak was substantial enough to merit taking the risk of kissing him was decisively put to rest.

When Garak broke off their kiss after what felt like such a short period of time, he wasn't sure why until he registered the sound of hurriedly retreating footsteps. . . . Ah.

"I believe we've scandalised Airman Brown with our flagrant breach of regulations," Garak commented in his usual flippant manner, but the way his happiness shone through all the same made Julian's already fast-beating heart beat faster still.

"He's a fictional character. He'll adapt," Julian answered just as lightly. He then added, "Computer, freeze program," and once again Garak met him halfway.


End file.
